


Freedom's Just Another Word For Nothin' Left to Lose

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27549778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: Dean and Sam explore the meaning of life on the road without their found family and the pitfalls of freedom for freedom's sake.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 33
Kudos: 34





	1. Next Year

The house was dark and quiet.

Dean walked into the kitchen looking for a midnight snack. 

He briefly wondered about the likelihood of a Dagwood sandwich. Then he grinned and patted his stomach. He'd get _killed_ if he messed with the diet now.

Dean stood in the light of the open refrigerator door, contemplating whether tuna fish and peanut butter was an acceptably healthy sandwich option, when he was suddenly blindsided. Someone wrestled him down to the floor.

" _Oof!_ " he cried out, as he went down, all the air punched out of his lungs.

He raised a fist until he saw the face illuminated in the light from the fridge.

"Easy there, tiger."

" _Sam?_ "

Sam grinned and helped him up off the floor.

Somehow he was taller, and lankier, with even floppier hair than Dean remembered.

"I thought you'd appreciate a visit," Sam said.

"Well, call first!"

"You didn't, when you did it."

"Yeah, but Sam," said Dean. "Really? On the night before my wedding?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Me and Bobby McGee" by Kris Kristofferson, famously covered by Janis Joplin.


	2. Last Year

Dean felt their victory had been hollow, in the end.

Sam called it _pyrrhic._

Dean pretended not to know the word, because playing stupid had saved him for so long that it was like a nervous tic.

The thing was -

he was going through the motions.

Oh, sure, he went after ghosts and vampires, all that crap.

His heart just wasn't in it anymore.

He'd changed.

***

"Sam," he said, one morning after another successful hunt, and he briefly wondered if Jack was making sure all their hunts were successful lately. "I think we gotta - something's gotta change, man."

"Like what?" Sam asked, eating his hippie cereal like the degenerate weirdo he was.

"Like, I - I can't be here anymore, it's like a damned coffin," said Dean. "It was one thing when the world was on our tail and we could use something like a stuffy concrete bunker, but hell, don't you miss windows?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean like he was being weird, and maybe Sam was right.

"I'm crawlin' outta my skin here, man," Dean complained.

"So...what? You want to hunt? Buy a house? What?"

Dean grabbed onto it like a lifeline.

"Maybe a house?" he hazarded. "With big windows. You know those houses that are more window than house? One of those."

He sighed.

"What's the worth of all this freedom if we ain't got anyone to share it with?" he asked.

Sam studied him.

"Where is all this coming from?"

Dean sighed and put the heels of his hands against his eyes, like he used to when he was a kid, to see the starbursts behind it. He always used to get the impression that if he did it long enough, waited long enough, he'd see something incredible, like the secrets of the universe or something.

Latently, he'd taken to doing that, somehow hoping he'd see Cas.

"I'm - this isn't _enough_ for me, Sam," Dean said. "Not anymore. I want Cas back. Okay?"

Sam set down his cereal and nodded slowly.

"Yeah, Dean," he said. "Me too."

"Then what?" Dean asked. "We go on the road again to rescue Cas?"

"Like we did when we were looking for Dad."

"Yeah," said Dean, warming to the idea. "Except this time it won't be for revenge, it'll be for - "

"Redemption," said Sam.

He grinned at Dean.

" _And reciprocation,_ " whispered Dean's heart of hearts, but he couldn't say it aloud.

Not yet. He'd never told Sam, he'd never told anyone about Cas's deal.

He'd never told anyone -

well.

If they found Cas, then the cat would be well and truly out of the bag.

"Go big or go home," said Dean.

"I'll get the keys."

***

Their adventure started much like their original adventure once had. Trips around the country, looking for a spell or a way in that didn't involve Jack's interference. Dean would never understand why Jack hadn't offered to help, but if he was _one with the raindrops_ or what-the-hell-ever, maybe he felt like Cas was with him anyway.

Dean was not a cosmic being.

He was just a man, as Cas had once said.

And as a man, he was lonely without his best friend by his side.

Besides, what if Cas was suffering?

A horrible thought struck Dean.

What if Cas was finally at peace, and they dragged him out of there back into the shitshow of their lives anyway?

" _You are the most selfless man I have ever known_ ," Cas had said.

Dean had to hold onto that, hold onto everything Cas had said about him, and try like hell to believe in the truth of it, despite everything he'd done, despite constantly feeling as if he would be submerged beneath the inky darkness of his own self-hatred, an inky darkness that looked a lot like the black goo that had spread out across the water where he'd seen Cas go into that river, like the black goo that had come to take Castiel away from him once and for all.

"There is no _once and for all_ in Supernatural," he muttered to himself one day outside of Akron after talking to a witch.

"What?" asked Sam.

"Death isn't forever," said Dean. "Especially not for us. Maybe I shoulda read Chuck's books after all."

"I have," said Sam lightly.

"What?" said Dean, wheeling around on him. "When were you going to tell me this?"

Sam shrugged.

"I didn't think it mattered," he said. "I thought there might be some clues in them back when we were looking for a way to stop the apocalypse."

"Oh," said Dean, surprised he hadn't thought of that himself. "That makes sense, yeah."

"If we're so keen on reading the lore, then those books are the best lore there is," said Sam. "Speaking of which, um -"

"What?"

"Well, I've noticed," Sam started, and then seemed to take another tack, "Do you remember when we were in that weird world, where we were in a television show?"

Dean rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Ugh, yeah," said Dean. "Still can't get the stink of it off me. _Makeup,_ man. Really."

"Yeah, well, anyway," said Sam. "You know how the bones were plastic and the spell didn't work?"

"Yeah," said Dean.

"I've been noticing - well, something similar lately," said Sam. "The lore seems to be - just that. Lore. Spells not working. Rocks are just rocks. That kind of thing."

Dean stared at his brother.

"What the hell does that mean?" he demanded.

"I don't know, exactly," said Sam. "But it seems like it's powering down. Maybe Jack's doing it, maybe it's Chuck."

"So what then?" asked Dean. "No more supernatural?"

"Maybe a light version," said Sam. 

_No. Not without Cas. No way._

"Well we better get a move on and get Cas outta there," said Dean, "before there's no _there_ to get him out of, if you get me."

"I get you," said Sam. "And on the subject of Cas, there's some other stuff in Chuck's books that I wanted to talk to you about -"

Dean raised a hand.

"Not right now, Sammy," he said. "Let's just get him home."

Sam looked like he was about to serve up an imminent bitchface and then his entire face softened like a pat of microwaved butter.

" _Oh_ ," said Sam.

The wide grin that followed meant nothing good.

"Get in the car," Dean ordered, and he could swear that Sam was smothering something that sounded like _giggles_ the whole time.

***

As it turned out, the Empty was all too happy to give up its most irritating angel.

"Better you than me," it said, and handed over Castiel, who just stared at Dean like he'd never seen him in his life.

"Have a good night's sleep," said Dean.

The Shadow blinked at him, and then there they were, standing in a field together.

"Hello, Dean," said Castiel.

Dean couldn't believe it. Standing there, in the light of the setting sun, he couldn't help but notice how _handsome_ Castiel was, and wondered if he'd always been that good-looking.

"Heya, Cas," said Dean gently, touching his cheek.

Sam cleared his throat.

"Gonna go - over there," he said vaguely, and loped off toward the waiting Impala.

Dean and Castiel stared at each other as if they had never been apart.

"The world's powering down now, Sam says," Dean told him.

"What does that mean?" Castiel asked.

"Dunno," said Dean. "Maybe we'll wake up one day and find - it's just us. Just this."

Castiel gave him a rare smile.

"I think that's more than enough."

Dean kissed him then, because he had to, as the sunset turned the wheatfields around them into burnished, blushing gold.

He pulled back, studied Castiel's surprised, shocked face in the colors of the setting sun.

"You're gonna come home with me," said Dean. "You got that?"

Castiel nodded.

"I'd like that, Dean," he said. "Very much."

And that was that.


	3. Then

Castiel touched him, that night, for the first time.

And of all the ways Dean had imagined this union, this possibility -

the breathless startle of it, sparks raining down from the sky, wishing-stars falling, thunder rolling overhead and the drama of it marked by a spread of great, black wings -

no, instead, it was certain and soft, private and pure.

Castiel laid soft kisses on him everywhere, whispered praise into his bruised skin, scars healing up with the last of his remaining grace, as he kissed his love and worship into every part of Dean.

And Dean, Dean who was accustomed to hard fucks and being the dominant one in all of his couplings, all that fell away from him then, and he felt his heart's guard thin as if the ice over it was easily broken, just a quick snap or the melt of the heat of Castiel.

Dean wept, and loved, and spoke of it, a long babble of whispered truths from years of repression, _yes, Castiel, most holy, my love, my love, my love -_

and when Castiel pushed into him, Dean's face wet with tears, he came, helpless, and the great warrior who had taken him as a lover fucked into him with a strength and a grace Dean hadn't known was a part of sex, _could be_ a part of sex, with a confident adoration that made Dean aware he was witnessing more than a shared act of love but almost an act of religion.

The quick, fierce snap of Castiel's hips shoved Dean up the bed. He would find, in time, that the warrior angel was still there, and enjoyed ordering Dean around the bedroom, even if Dean would have never allowed such a thing in any other circumstances.

When Castiel came, his eyes shone a brief flash of blue, and faded; his fists were tight against the bedspread and his beautiful, flat lips held together against clenched teeth, and Dean could read there only triumph, triumph and conquest, the final moment of the battle when the soldier emerges victorious.

Castiel had won, and Dean was glad to be the prize.

Somehow, even in the new mundane world, it had been the most supernatural experience of Dean Winchester's entire life.

***

Not very long afterward, their partnership of those first few hesitant months fell into such a normalcy Dean couldn't imagine why they'd held back for so long. This - they could have had this - but he tried not to focus on the lost years and just make up for them with the new ones.

One late afternoon in the sunset, Castiel asked him to meet out at the field where Dean had first drawn him out of the Empty. The colors were all gold and pink, purple and green, just as he had remembered.

Castiel stood there waiting for him, wearing a tuxedo. Bees were buzzing lazily around him as he watched Dean with those ancient, knowing eyes.

"Cas?" Dean hazarded, walking up to him.

"We have been a part of one another's lives for many years now," Castiel said. "I wanted to meet you here because it is, to me, an example of your great beauty. Gold like your hair, green like your eyes, you are the world to me."

Dean grinned, and a joke was on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason he stayed quiet.

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when Castiel got down on one knee and pulled out a ring.

"Dean Winchester," said Castiel. "Will you marry me?"

Dean gaped down at him.

"I believe this is the correct human custom," Castiel frowned at the ring.

Dean crashed into him then, bowling him over and the ring went flying.

"Yes, you stupid fucker," said Dean, covering Castiel's face in kisses. "Yes, I'll marry you."

***

It took them upwards of three hours to find the ring sitting next to a small frog.

***

And since it was looking likely that this was going to be life now, the Winchesters had to start to make sense of living in a mundane world. 

Even the monsters faded away, until they had reverted to humans again.

Not all of them, of course.

There was always something out there to go bump in the night, but their lives were different now.

Sam had gotten hitched to Eileen a while back, and bought a red house out near the wheat fields where Castiel had proposed.

Eventually, Dean and Castiel did the same.

They bought a big, white house with chipping paint and a wraparound porch.

And tall windows that made it the house seem like more window than house.


	4. Interlude

Despite the joy of the proposal, and the frankly ridiculous amount of sex that had followed, they hit some rough patches as the big day approached.

Castiel came to find Dean standing in the kitchen of the latest motel, staring blankly out the window into the darkness of the motor court.

"Is something the matter, Dean?"

Dean took a deep breath.

"You just - you," he said, and he could hear the shake in his voice, "you _knew_ it would come for you, and you _left_ me, and, God, Cas, how many times I gotta watch you die?"

His shoulders were shaking. Apparently he hadn't been able to box this shit up after all.

"How many people gotta - gotta abandon me, man?" he asked, tears falling freely now. "An' - an' you said _you loved me_ and like, _that's_ the first fuckin' time you say it? When you know a monster's gonna grab you and there's no time for me to say it back?"

Castiel bowed his head.

"You're right, Dean," he said. "I should have said it more often. I should have told you as often as I thought it. The way I did it was cowardly, I see that now."

"No, man, it was brave," Dean said. "Just - just don't go leavin' me again, got that?"

"Got it," said Castiel, and took Dean's face in his hands, kissing his lips gently and using his thumbs to wipe away Dean's tears.

Dean didn't know what it said about him that he had never felt safer or more secure than he did when Castiel cradled his face like that, when Castiel spooned him at night, when Castiel held him in his arms.

"Love you," Dean mumbled through his tears.

"Love you too," said Castiel.

***

On a ghost hunt, Dean swung the iron poker through the ghost as it screamed.

"Behind you, Dean!" Castiel shouted, and Dean spun around, whirling the poker through the ghost again. "And I love you."

Dean was so startled the ghost got the jump on him, but luckily Castiel had dropped the lit match at just the right time. The ghost lit on fire and smoked out.

"You need to be more careful," said Castiel. "My grace is fading, I won't be able to heal you or Sam one day."

Dean nodded.

"And by the way, I love you."

***

Cas kept this shit up for ages.

On a rugaru hunt, just as Dean almost went down:

"I love you."

Exterminating a vampire nest:

"You have some blood on your face, Dean. I love you."

At first, Dean was confused, but he couldn't deny the happy little spark that lit in his heart every damned time Castiel said it.

Sure, there were quite a few times he had _knock it off, Cas_ or _no chick flick moments_ on the tip of his tongue, but somehow they never found their way out of his mouth.

God, he was so damned happy he was stupid.

"Pass me the butter, please? I love you."

Dean just grinned wide, as Sam and Eileen exchanged glances.

 _That little shit,_ thought Dean, and absolutely knew he was giving googoo eyes to Castiel.

"Not a word, Sammy," he said. "Not a freakin' word."

"I wasn't - " Sam began. "I just wanted to say - I'm happy for you."

"I'm happy for all of us," Castiel ground out. "I cannot say I expected this outcome. I thought we would die in a terrible and bloody fight with no hope of returning. This is vastly preferable."

"Wow, tell it like it is," signed Eileen.

"Yeah, he does that," grinned Dean, and hell, he could _hear_ the syrup in his voice. 

"Cas and Dean, sitting in a tree," Sam sang.

"Dude, you're _forty._ "

"Not yet."

"Shut the fuck up and pass the mashed potatoes," growled Castiel.

The hilarity that ensued at the table afterwards nearly ended up with the food on the floor.

Dean finally managed to hand over the mashed potato bowl - Winchester special, made with a ton of _beurre d'Isigny_ and fuckin' _brie cheese_ , skins still on and everything -

what? Dean loved to cook, and if he wanted to be fancy, well his family deserved it.

Castiel took the dish with a big, gummy smile.

"Thank you, Dean," he said, still laughing, as Sam took Eileen's hand. "And I love you."

This, for some reason, was the funniest thing anyone had said all night.


	5. Now

That, of course, led to this midnight attack in front of Dean's open fridge.

"Just testing your reflexes."

" _Now?_ " asked Dean, rubbing the back of his head.

"Yeah, how d'you like it?"

Dean folded his arms and Sam grinned.

"I'm really happy for you, man," said Sam, and gathered his brother up in a quick hug.

"Dean Winchester, you had better not be eating," rumbled Castiel's voice.

"Shit! Cas! Warn a guy!" Dean yelped. "And no, I wasn't!"

"But you were thinking about it."

"You were totally thinking about it."

"Thanks a lot, Sam."

Castiel made a tired sound. Dean's heart still danced around in his chest, seeing Cas like this, all sleep-grumpy as he rubbed his eyes.

"Dean, we've already had to tailor your trousers four times," said Cas. "You were put on a strict diet for a reason."

"I know, I know, sweetheart," said Dean, taking his hand. "It won't happen again."

Sam's mirth could not be contained. Dean pointed in his face.

"I'll see you tomorrow," said Dean. 

He gave one last, longing look at the fridge, and then pushed the door shut.

"Come to bed, Dean," murmured Castiel. "There will be plenty of food and cake and champagne for you tomorrow."

"Oh baby," said Dean. "Talk dirty to me."

"Ugh," said Sam.

"You know, when me an' Cas have sex, there's this one thing he does that drives me fuckin' _crazy -_ "

"No!" Sam yelled, hands over his ears like he was twelve again. "No! Nope!"

Dean grinned.

"You know what they say," he told his little brother. "Can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen."

***

The wedding was simple and beautiful. 

It was held in their yard, with fairy lights strung around the tree branches.

Everyone they knew was there, and while the wedding wasn't as huge as some Dean had witnessed on television, it was big enough for him to realize, in a sudden and strange way that made his heart hurt, that they'd certainly picked up a lot of friends along the way.

And there, at the front, waiting for him, was Castiel.

Dean willed himself not to cry, but for some reason the usual wasn't working all that well.

Once he got up there and saw the tears in Sam's eyes, saw the tears in Bobby's and then turned to Castiel, whose baby blues were just an ocean of them -

well, Dean Winchester, despite himself, was only human.

Castiel took his hands, and Dean was lost.

"We are gathered here today," said Bobby, who was officiating, "to celebrate the love between these two idjits."

Everyone laughed, and Dean did too.

"Dean said he had something to say," said Bobby.

"Dean?" asked Cas.

Dean reached into his breast pocket and unfolded a note.

"You got your three minutes of confession time," said Dean. "Now it's my turn."

Cas said nothing, but the smile on his face gave Dean courage.

"Hope you don't mind that I read off this," said Dean. "Just that - I didn't want to forget anything."

Cas just nodded.

"Castiel," Dean began, then cleared his throat, which seemed to have tightened, "The night we met, you scared the hell out of me. I didn't know it yet, but everything had completely changed the moment you walked into that barn in a shower of sparks and your wings spread wide. Not just for me, but for all of us."

Dean took a deep breath.

"You are everything humans mean when we use the word _angel_. Selfless, sacrificing, loving, trustworthy. A guardian, a warrior. The one angel that did as he had been commanded, and loved humanity over everything else. And one particular part of it more than he ever deserved, or had the right to expect."

Now Dean's words wobbled with his tears.

"And in all these years of fighting by each other's side, of all these years of friendship, I loved you. God, I loved you, Castiel. I just didn't know how to say it. This love has been bigger than both of us, bigger than the sky and the stars I'm sure you hung up there. It was terrifying and exhilirating. And whenever I thought I had lost you, I would do anything to get you back. I would follow you into the dark."

Dean kissed Castiel's knuckles. Tears wet his cheeks.

"You are perfect to me, Castiel," he said. "Angel, human, no matter what. I want you around - just 'cause."

He took another deep breath.

"I love you, Cas," said Dean. "And I wanna keep tellin' you every single night and day for the rest of our lives. When I make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When we fight monsters. When we sit at the table with our friends. When you catch me in front of the fridge late at night. For all those missed opportunities, Cas, I wanna make 'em up to you forever."

"I love you, Castiel."

"Cas, would you like to respond?" asked Bobby.

Cas smiled through his tears.

"I don't know how I can follow that up," said Cas. "And I said my piece before - something Dean and I will share together, I think. So I will be brief.

Dean Winchester, it has been an honor to be your guardian angel. I would like to remain so for the rest of our lives. I love you unconditionally, and with all of my being, angelic and eternal and human. Yes, I hung the stars, some of them - and since I met you, I have hung a few of them for you."

Dean stared at Castiel.

"What can I say?" Cas shrugged. "I'm a romantic."

"You got a real way of shuttin' me up, you know that?" said Dean.

"Sam, the rings," said Bobby.

Sam handed them over.

"With this ring, I thee wed," said Dean, breathing out, proud of himself for not absolutely breaking down in front of everybody because _an angel hung stars for him_ , holy crap.

He slid the ring onto Castiel's finger.

"With this ring, I thee wed," said Castiel, and did the same.

"Then by the power vested in me," Bobby announced, "I now pronounce you wed. You may kiss."

"Hell yeah," said Dean, but it was Castiel who grabbed him, dipped him, and kissed him dizzy.

The crowd went wild.

Dean grinned through the kiss and gave them the finger.

He couldn't see it, but he just _knew_ Sam was rolling his eyes.

He could feel it in his bones.

***

They had eaten dinner and cut the cake. Dean pigged out as per usual.

Then, it was time for the first dance.

"We got a few different first-dance songs," said Dean. "But you guys can join us after this one, okay? It's just - it's been a long time."

Castiel drew Dean onto the dance floor, which was a wooden structure set up beneath the lights of the trees just for their wedding.

They drew close, and swayed together.

"Wish I knew how to dance," murmured Dean. "Sorry, Cas."

"If you like, I can teach you," Cas said back. "We have all the time in the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have many, _many_ ideas about what these songs might be, but thought I'd leave it up to the reader to choose.


	6. Author's Note: Only A Heartbeat Away

While this is a sitcom-level outcome for these characters, and incredibly unlikely, it's always irked me that such a thing would be impossible not because this isn't a sitcom, but because the characters in question are both men, or male-appearing.

At the end of the day, Cas and Dean are both drifters in their own way, neither of them staying put, and living their own lives but also in the orbit of each other, which makes them well-suited for more reasons than just "understanding the hunting life". These are people who will never hate each other for leaving, because they understand it doesn't mean forever.

This is going to be an essay, so feel free to ignore it.

I wanted to address the importance of stories.

There's an old folktale about ants and a grasshopper, where most of them industriously work away to collect food for the winter. One grasshopper collects stories instead. The other grasshoppers make fun of him and get angry at him because they think he's lazy or useless. 

How this story turns out depends on the teller. 

My favorite version ends like this:

A hard winter comes. Most of their stores are depleted.

Things are not looking good.

And then the story-collecting grasshopper gets up in front of everyone and starts telling stories.

They gather around him to listen. And while it may not keep their hunger at bay, they're able to forget it a little while, draw closer, and find love, enjoyment, and happiness that lasts them until the spring finally comes.

We have seen the value of stories, of art and artwork, from the pandemic. As something I saw online said: never forget, in this time, you turned to artists.

Stories are the backbone of every religion on this earth.

Stories are what brings families together, strengthens bonds, talking about what Grandpa did back in the day, or what kind of foods you traditionally eat on holidays, the memories that make you smile.

Stories are things you tell your friends, the way you _make_ friends.

It's how we fall in love.

We are all of us stories, in the end. Every one.

So don't _ever_ let anyone tell you that being affected by a story is stupid or foolish. We are not automatons, and humanity has survived on stories since it began. We are not made of steel, but of starstuff.

And in the role of storyteller, I believe you have a responsibility to your audience.

Watching all this unfold over the years, seeing the way people reacted last week in particular, I thought:

You have a _responsibility_ now. You've created something that _means something_ to a lot of people. Don't betray them.

In my personal opinion, all this should have been resolved long ago. There should have been seasons where we watched Dean and Cas grow as people, watched Sam come into his own heritage, seen the small drifter's world of the Winchesters expand to their found family.

I lived a great deal of my life thinking I wanted what Dean wanted, initially - to be alone, on the road.

But like Dean, I found that I could never admit it was _lonely._ This is what I believe drove him to get his brother, regardless of what Sam wanted. Because it's a tough deal, sometimes, being someone who loves the drifter life, and the world tells you _okay, but you gotta go it alone._

Some years ago, this changed for me. I found people - the first home I had ever known.

And it was ripped away from me, due to circumstances I could not control.

I would give anything to go back. But that's just not in the cards, unfortunately.

I lost people close to me this year.

And the _last thing_ -

after finding all that, after losing all that,

I would have ever done, is to completely ignore all of it and act like there was nothing else on earth for me but my car, the motels, and a single companion.

I still wanted to be on the road - I just didn't want to live like I'd been living before. 

I learned that I didn't _have_ to stay in one place, and that people would still love me anyway. I found a place where I was accepted, and had a community, a home, where who I was made no difference to my friends. My own found family. No matter when I came and went, no matter what.

Before I found them, I used to watch shows about friendship, _Friends_ was always on rerun, on tv in the motels, _That 70s Show, Buffy._ I've long thought those programs were popular because they gave us something all human beings need: the sense of companionship, of friendship, of people who are always there, no matter where you are, and who will never let you down.

Anyway, I keep thinking about all those gay people, or let's say queer people to cover everybody, who saw themselves in Cas or Dean. I assume people see themselves in both of these guys. Here is a story that tells them, _an angel could love you, if they knew your soul,_ and _someone could pull you out of the fire,_ and _the family that acted like they loved you, the religion that hurt you, they're wrong, because the man with a golden soul, the most beautiful human being in existence, could rescue you and show you a life of self-acceptance and freedom._

I know this is the bare bones of it, but I also know: God, wouldn't we have _loved_ to have a story like this when we were young.

There are things I'd have changed, had I written this story. Dean would smoke, he'd have tattoos. Given the era he grew up, someone like Dean being a smoker seems like an obvious storytelling choice. His ear would be pierced, maybe a mohawk. Sam would be better-dressed than Dean and probably not start wearing the flannel uniform until later in the show. One of the interesting early choices was the differences in their accents and way of speaking. I would have also shown the darker and rougher aspects of road life, because despite preferring hopeful stories I think illustrating the drifter life by coloring it in a little would have made for a richer tapestry.

Then again, I doubt they have any real drifters on their writing team, or have consulted any drifters or hobos. I find that people are surprised we exist, or still exist - those who are aware of us often think drifters and hobos are from some bygone age. 

We're right here beside you, working all across America, just like Sam and Dean.

Anyway, those are just personal thoughts about how these characters should have been portrayed.

But when it comes to Destiel, I think there's far more of a real, tangible result for its outcome than whether or not Dean has tattoos.

So in the end, I suppose I'm saying:

These people have a responsibility toward their audience and the story they are writing. I hope that they understand that on some level and it isn't just a cynical cash-grab, although writing as a drifter in a rundown motel isn't anywhere near the fancy star power of doing it for television, so maybe the cash-grab is all they care about, I don't know.

But as a writer, I'd feel responsible for that queer kid looking up at these guys with eyes filled with hope. For the drifters and hobos who ran across this story and were captivated by someone telling them they weren't weird for their lifestyle, in fact they were pretty damned cool, and that no matter how long they were on the road, someone would be there waiting to open the door and let them in.

A story about everyone being worthy of the best kind of love.

I can only hope that one day, should I ever stumble onto a Destiel story of my own, in my original work, that I will understand the importance of it, and treat it as the great writers' gift it has been:

gold, like Dean's soul, and just there for the taking. A heartbeat away.

Here's hoping they understand.

And if not, you're invited to climb up beside me on the hood of _my_ car, and we can have a beer together (or nonalcoholic beverage of your choice), and I can tell you stories about the angel who fell in love with the drifter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of essay taken from the song "When I Need You", which I find very fitting for these guys. I recommend the Roger Whittaker version as I don't much like the original, if you want to listen to it.


End file.
